


Rules of attraction

by Ofmanipulatingdeath



Category: James Moriarty - Fandom, Jim Moriarty - Fandom, Moriarty - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Heavy Angst, Jim Moriarty Backstory, Jim Moriarty is 21 years old, Jim Moriarty is a manipulative little bitch, Jim Moriarty is a student, London, Organized Crime, Possible sex scenes, Pre-Canon, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, pre Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran, pre sherlock, pre-meeting Sebastian Moran, references to drinking, references to family problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ofmanipulatingdeath/pseuds/Ofmanipulatingdeath
Summary: In which 21 years old Jim Moriarty finds his very own approach to organised crime. Taking place in 1997, London and Oxford.





	1. Arising

_“We will encourage you to ask questions and find solutions for yourself. You will need to think mathematically and we begin by teaching you careful definitions so that you can construct theorems and proofs. Above all, mathematics is a logical subject, so you will need to argue clearly and concisely as you solve problems. For some of you, this way of thinking or solving problems will be your goal. Others will want to see what further can be discovered. Either way, it is a subject we want you to enjoy.”_ \- www.ox.ac.uk

 The slim, pale fingers tapped an almost noiseless rhythm onto the seats armrest as the people seated around him kept on talking quietly. The man changed his sitting position slightly, placing one leg over the other. London's crème de la crème of mathematicians were attending this meeting tonight in the large, bright lecture room furnished in beige tones, and yet Moriarty could tell that nobody in it had that particular understanding of numbers he happened to have. Funny, wasn't it? The last time he had visited this exact same spot at Oxford University, he had been the one lecturing a rather huge audience about his very own study of the binomial theorem, quite the ground-breaking discovery in the mathematical field of activity back in these days.

The dark haired Irishman chuckled softly to himself, leaning back in the seat again. Today he would play the part of the observer and listen to some bloke of maybe twenty years of age talk about the subject which had fascinated him a long time ago, more than a decade by now... The stage lit up with a soft, yet bright lightening, all directed towards the lectern. The 34-year-old raised his perfectly plucked dark brows and folded his arms in front of his chest. Slowly, the audience seated on the countless rows of velvet covered seats went quiet, and a young man, not older than 25, appeared on stage, nervously clearing his throat as he walked up to the speaker's desk. The lights in the room itself went off, and James couldn't help it but be amazed about the lot of memories that suddenly hit him out of nowhere.

*

 “For fuck's sake, James, get out of the shower, other people might want to use it, too!"

His father's angry voice pulled him out of his thoughts, back to reality. The white tiles reflected the bright sunlight which was falling through the bathroom window, causing him to squint a little. He couldn't remember how he had ended up at the shower's bottom, sitting on the floor, cold water pouring down on him. Stupid, stupid thing... He ran his hand through his wet, raven locks, shivering slightly. He's been cold all this time and hadn't even noticed. How long had he been in here? One hour? Perhaps two? Getting up slowly, he sighed, turning the water off and drying his pale, slim body with a towel. The young man stared at his wrinkled fingertips with furrowed brows before finally tying the towel around his waist and leaving the bathroom. It was always water, wasn't it. Carl Powers holding him underwater in the school's sport lessons back then, and him killing the very same at the age of eleven.

The young man shook his head as if to chase the thoughts away. He knew what he had done, but he didn't feel sorry for it. Never has, never will.

“What the fuck were you doing this long in there?”, Alastair Moriarty hissed at him, shaking his head. “Boy, if this is some kind of your twisted shit again...”

_As if you would care._

Jim shrugged at his father, making his way past him through the hallway into his rather minimally arranged room. If he wanted to arrive on time, he would have to leave in a matter of minutes.

Putting on a slightly too big, yet notably expensive and neat-looking white button down shirt, he eyed himself in the mirror. Dark, tired orbs full of irritation stared back at him as he tucked it into his trousers.

55 minutes and a train rideto Oxford later, the 21-year-old found himself entering the lecture room, slightly out of breath, but definitely not late. A few bored glares rested on him before shifting back to whatever had been more interesting before his arrival and Moriarty sat down at his usual seat next to some girl who had been constantly copying his notes during the last few lectures, thinking he hadn't noticed. He clenched his teeth and took out a notebook and a pen, tapping it against the desk's surface nervously before forcing himself not to as the girl stared at him. The silent young man could not stand the murmur, getting louder and louder around him, details about last night's party at Brad's dorm, whoever that was, and pregnancy rumours which annoyed him to the core, and all he wanted to do of a sudden was get up and demand them to be quiet, shut them all up with their stupid little chats and -

It was not necessary, since Professor Willkens had entered and thus established silence by his pure presence. Jim relaxed slowly, the tension decreasing a little as he focused on the older, very well dressed man with the straight posture and the intelligent face standing there in front of the class and taking off the heavy coat. He did like his lectures a lot, even though he found quite a few topics rather boring. The lecture had been going on as usually, the calm yet distinctive voice going in detail when necessary. James kept taking notes even though he understood the whole process perfectly, and the girl next to him proceeded to copy those. It was the very end of the lesson that the young Moriarty was awaiting eagerly.

Finally, the lecture was over and the students began to stream out of the room as if they had been imprisoned, causing James to smirk a little in excitement. He packed his things and stared at the man, a soft little smirk still ghosting around his lips.

“Did you happen to have time to read through my work, Professor?”, he asked exigently as he stood up slowly, locking eyes with the other male.

“In case you're talking about 'A Treatise on the Binomial Theorem', Mr Moriarty, then I indeed have.”, Willkens muttered and furrowed his eyebrows so that a huge wrinkle formed between them.

Jim's eyes widened a little and he bit his lip in excitement.

_And? What do you think? I have been working for a whole year on this. It's perfectly planned out, every single detail is perfectly calculated. It is my best work yet._

“Well, I like how much effort you put in it.”, Willkens sighed and tilted his head, proceeding to pack away his box of chalk.

_That's it? What about my equotations? My calculations? The entire new mathematical discovery I made?_

“Anything else you would like to add, Professor?”, Jim asked sweetly, even though his left eye started twitching. The professor chuckled softly, then sighed.

“Mr Moriarty... I appriciate your interest in mathematics and yet I have to say that I do not think there's something left to discover as far as the binomial theorem is concerned.”, he stated, giving Jim an apologetic look.

The younger man gritted his teeth and clenched his fist.

_No._

“I am aware that you're smart, but if your theory were right, you would turn out to be smarter than any of the people I know, and I happen to know many of Britain's most intelligent people. I am sure I could get you some extra credit for your try, though.”, Willkens told him and took his briefcase with a small, warm smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo here's the first chapter...  
> I've gotten the first extract from Oxford University's official website, so here's the source: https://www.ox.ac.uk/admissions/undergraduate/courses-listing/mathematics?wssl=1  
> And you can read right here about the Treatise on the Binomial Theorem: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Treatise_on_the_Binomial_Theorem  
> Also no worries, it'll get more dramatic.


	2. Swedish fish

_'Who do you talk to about important matters? Most of us would answer that question with a short list of names including perhaps a parent, a sibling, a significant other, and/or a few close friends. These are the people we trust, share intimate details with, and rely on, and they're essential for our social support. Or so we and social scientists have always thought.  New research from Harvard sociologist Mario Luis Small reveals that, while that small group, known as a core discussion network, is important, we routinely confide in people we don’t know very well. Small thinks this underappreciated fact might tell us something important about human nature and the kinds of connections we need to combat loneliness. "People’s true pool of confidants is everyone they run into,” '_ \- Psychology Today

His mind had never been just thoughts, to be honest; James Moriarty did not think in single strands of information. Instead, the young man happened to think in impulses, rather than anything else. Different languages he had learned over the last couple of years, colours, melodies, rhythms, and, most importantly, numbers. Usually all at once. Digits had always fascinated the Irishman the most and even now he could not completely explain at what ease they stumbled through his mind, a complex calculating system established by his very own brain, containing different kinds of mental imagery and thus shortening every calculation, no matter how intricate it might be, to literal seconds.

And yet, Jim hated it. Being gifted the way he had been brought an uncountable amount of pain with it, no physical but a mental one, causing some sort of sensory overload within his busy mind back in his childhood. Soon he had proceeded to develop certain mental illnesses on top of that, but he tried hard to ignore the constant reminders of these in this very certain moment and downed the rest of his drink.

The whole room was dimly lit; certainly to create some type of cosy atmosphere, he figured. It wasn't exactly working, judging by the emptiness of this public space. The wooden and polished surface of the bar's counter top felt smooth beneath his shaking fingertips as Cyndi Lauper's 'Time After Time ' played quietly in the background of it all. Not many people were spending their Tuesday evening in the small corner pub, of course, for most young people had to prepare for whatever college they went to, and the older target group usually had some sort of workspace to attend the next day. Therefore the customers weren't the busiest of people, as Moriarty could tell by the few alcoholics sitting in one corner and playing cards lackadaisically.

“Another Scotch, Sir?”, the waitress asked in a slightly high-pitched voice, pressing her tits together and biting her bottom lip slowly. Being torn out of his mind harshly, the mathematician looked up and quickly hid his devastation behind a playful smirk.

“I shan't refuse, now, shall I?”, he hummed quietly and locked eyes with her, dropping the whole attitude immediately with a slightly disgusted grimace after the girl had turned away with a quiet giggle to pour him another one.

_I've wasted a whole year on it, calculating every ever-so-tiny bit of information. It CAN'T be wrong..can it? It can not. It's perfect. Utterly perfect! I have never been wrong before, not in mathematics, anything but mathematics, I... I refuse to believe..._

He rested his cheek in his palm, gritting his teeth until his jaw started hurting. “Can I get you anything else, Mister?”, the ginger woman asked him, pursing her lips slightly as she placed the glass right in front of him, green eyes sparkling in sheer excitement. Moriarty smirked up at her and shook his head slowly. She was about to keep on talking, when suddenly the pub's door opened another time and a man entered. Taking a sip from his Scotch, the young man watched the stranger over the edge of the glass, perfectly plucked, dark brows raised in slight interest. The man took off his coat and hat to reveal dark blond hair with greyish streaks and a rather good posture. James set the glass back onto the counter, his dark eyes following the man's movements. He figured he'd have to be around forty and a very active kind of man. He had an intelligent face with tiny wrinkles around the eyes which didn't necessarily make him unattractive. The stranger smiled and sat down at the bar, leaving out a chair to keep himself distanced, even though grey eyes kept lingering on the 21-year-old.

 _It doesn't matter how one looks, anyway. It's the way one acts. And acquaintances other than one's own age group are always of great use._ All of a sudden, Jim looked back, locking eyes with the blond stranger and lifting his chin up. Searching for clues, he held the strange eye contact. _Why can't I read you?_

No information. None at all, beside an estimated age and the simple guess that he was working in a very busy kind of job, pretty lucrative, too, judging by his clothing and hair style. Also, clean-shaven. He didn't break the eye contact, simply kept looking at James.

“May I help you somehow?”, Moriarty hummed quietly, taking another sip. “I don't know, yet, kid.”, the older male replied in a humble northern, perhaps Swedish accent, smirking softly as his bright eyes got a warm undertone. Sympathy, then. At least something. “Shouldn't you be studying something on a Tuesday night? Preparing for the next day? You truly do not look like you belong to this type of company, to be honest.”, he stated in a rough voice and ordered a whisky. This sentence was followed by a long pause, giving James time to think. “Well, neither do you, Sir.”, he sneered, downing the rest of the drink. It burned deep down in his throat and he tried hard not to grimace. The blond chuckled and shook his head. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat, offering Jim his hand.

“Ulay Leifsson”, he introduced himself and the Irishman shook his hand sceptically. “James Moriarty”, he replied with a playful smirk. “So, what exactly does a student like you, if my assumptions about those ink stains on your left hand looking like...”, he squinted a little as Jim looked down at his own hand, “equitations you smudged while writing, I suppose, were right, do in a lonely pub on a week night?”, he asked with a small grin and bright, friendly eyes focused on Moriarty's own. Funnily, the younger male distrusted him and wanted to tell him all of it at the same time. A remarkable manipulative trait, it was. Impressive, even though he'd never actually admit it out loud.

“Drink, Sir.”, he stated the obvious with a melancholic little laugh, setting the empty glass aside with a heavy little thud against the surface of the counter top.

“But why would you be drinking alone?”, Ulay asked with one raised eyebrow and a soft smirk. Jim blamed his longing to simply tell Leifsson about his whole dilemma on the alcohol. Besides, he'd never see this man again, now, so why not tell him? At this point, it wouldn't actually change anything. Besides, he was too desperate for any type of opinion on the whole situation to remain silent.

“I've worked for about a year on a treatise upon the binomial theorem, most possibly the best work of my entire life, you know. And my prof didn't acknowledge it. In fact, I don't think that he's even read it.”, James muttered, turning his face away in the end, because, even though he tried to convince himself otherwise, it hurt. Running his fingers through his raven hair, he pulled himself together and stared into the grey eyes of the stranger with a force, a force caused by confusion and disappointment.

“Look, I think in numbers. I've had my A levels at the age of 16, I'm about to finish university at the age of 21.”, Jim hissed, staring at the empty glass in front of him, the last drop of brownish liquid glistening in the dim light.

_It's truly time to shut up, Moriarty, don't you think?_

Leifsson furrowed those bushy eyebrows of his, eyes switching from one corner to the other.

“So you're pretty good at maths.”, he stated quietly. Jim nodded slowly, a little more reserved this time. “Maths, physics and astronomy.”, he admitted carefully. The other male nodded, too and clasped his hands. “Say, James. You're truly different than the others, aren't you?” Moriarty shrugged.

_Yes. Yes, I am, but I'd rather not be I think._

“So why should you abide by their rules? Obey their systems? You're clearly not made for that.”, Leifsson, stated calmly, taking another swig of his whiskey. Jim smirked and looked up to him out of gleaming dark orbs, clenching his fists.

_You have no idea. I've killed people. I figured what type of rules apply to me._

“What I'm trying to say, James, do you want to use your skills differently?”, the blond murmured and grinned. Jim licked slowly over his lips. “That would be?”, he asked sceptically. Ulay Leifsson winked at him and finished his drink. “Slightly illegal, but properly paid. Stuff with codes.”, he explained.

Intrigued, Jim raised his brows. “Codes. How much will I get? And what about the time?”

“Enough.”, the older man answered and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I've come to finish this shite. I hope you like it. Also a friend of mine told me that Ulay's face claim could be Armie Hammer. Also don't judge that chapter title. Props again to that very certain friend. I'm kind of digging that. Anyways, here's the link to the article https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/brain-waves/201709/the-paradox-confiding-in-near-strangers and to the song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdQY7BusJNU&list=RDQMBCxi4DJ9WTo&index=6 and I'd appreciate feedback either on here or my IG acc @ofmanipulatingdeath ;)  
> Stay tuned for the next chapter I guess


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